Frosty stares greet my intrusion.
They all just stare at me (but they’ve never looked)
My palms are sweating.
Oh God, why did I come down?
Everything was so bright and unfamiliar,
though the house held no secrets from me.
But it was the way they stared at me.
It made me feel like I was a stranger
walking into someone’s house without warning
But I have lived here just as long as they
I’m a part of this family too, aren’t I?
No I guess not. I’ve just been here forever.
Laughter rose from down below, so inviting;
Gaily bubbling till I could not stand it any longer.
So I unclenched my fists and rose from bed,
straining my eyes against the sliver of light beneath the door
that pierced my corneas like razor blades.
I sat up in bed and counted the buttons on my shirt till I felt safe
Here in my room, sheets do not stay fresh long,
and beneath the dusk of darkened bulbs
there is the stagnant aroma of old food and older sorrow.
It clenches the bowls of any who step the thresh,
but I am used to it by now. The sloth of entropy knows no bounds.
I can still hear them below (The demons) and now they are laughing.
Recalling happy memories and times gone by,
they shout and laugh and reminisce.
I think: I am part of this flock, aren’t I?
So why shouldn’t I be there when the worms are regurgitated?
I should have realized; in every murder of crows there is always one
that is gangly and weak, and must be cut down to further the flight.
I am that crow. That black sheep no one likes to talk about.
And so now I stand out like bloodstains on white linen.
All I want is to be back in my silent dark room,
staring at the posters on the wall. The ones I’ve ripped to shreds.
The ones I can’t see anymore. Because inside my room there is no light
except for the one that blinks red and gray inside my skull.
Without a word I leave that bright place of glares and murmurs.
I walk the flight of stairs feeling a low dull throb near my temple,
and my arms are aching badly now for some reason.
I open and shut the door of my cell, crawl into bed, and wonder...
why is there the heavy smell of copper hanging in the air?
From somewhere far away I can someone screaming...
Author notes
Written about a great while ago, I can't remember when exactly, and just thought I'd share with AP!
In a list
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Comments
1 - 6 of 6
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i loved it that is such a depressing yet nice ... nice write
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Really cool, I like the bit about counting the buttons to feel safe. It really works out well, and comes off smoothly and sincerely. Awesome.
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parts of this i absolutely love and then it seems that some of the metaphors actually hinder what you are saying. your honesty is the good honesty that makes a person stop to listen...too many metaphors can carry a superfluous tone.
it's still a very well written poem though
nice job. -
the only thing I really understand is the smell of copper. I just learned that from watching C.S.I the other night..but this was filled with images and it gave me the chills..
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Wow - this is so deep and dark and scary...would make a great story - like Steven King novel... always something else to take one away in another direction. Great write - good title. Liked the way you brought that into the poem too.
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NICE WRITE
What a lovely job you have done here. I so enjoyed the piece!
POETDONTKNOWIT
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